


Always, indeed

by LadyMikaelson



Series: Moriel Moments [1]
Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: F/M, omg she is so perfect Azriel, sleeping in his bed, worried Mor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-26
Updated: 2017-03-26
Packaged: 2018-10-10 18:25:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10444260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyMikaelson/pseuds/LadyMikaelson
Summary: Small one-shot (started as a drabble) to show why Mor has always informations about Az and how she would wait forever to make sure he's fine and unwounded.





	

A whisper touched his ears, blowing sweet words of acknowledgement, one moment before her scent hit him – rich, powerful and endearing – , filling his nostrils and his mind. It was the path to his room, the comfortable room he had earned centuries ago and kept almost in unchanged.

His steps made no sound and he tucked in his wings, the shadows spinning around him, ready to let him vanish, ready to provide an easy exit.

Azriel pushed the door slightly, a discreet move that would call her attention anyways, bracing himself for the full impact of her presence inside his room. In all those years, she hadn't been in his room more than a few times, usually when it was actually needed and not for no apparent reason.

A sigh of relief left his lungs at the same time that all his muscles clenched. Laying spread in his bed, her hair a golden mess, was Mor. His eyes drifted thru her form in a slow, uncalculated reaction, stopping in the pillow she held close – his pillow, her face buried into it. A shiver made its way down his spine as he noticed how she had slept, one leg bent in her side, almost touching the pillow she so softly hugged. Morrigan looked like she belonged right there, sharing space with his scent and his shadows, sharing the main parts of his being.

Incoherent thoughts running inside his mind, his body made his own decisions on detailing her features, her parted mouth and flushed ckeeks, as she if she was dreaming right now, her breaths, the way that her top cropped hang a little, showing more than just her navel. He blinked sharply, bobbing his head to get a grip of himself.

Finally, Azriel's eyes landed in the book, the red covered pages that didn't belong to him. Morrigan was waiting for a really long time.

He found his favorite chair when his legs started to complain, exhaustion hitting him almost hard enough to consider waking Mor and find some rest in the bed, _almost_. The sun would soon start to rise and the colors in the bedroom were already changing, thanks to te curtains she had opened. Slowly, he was allowed to see more details of her. How her skin seemed to shine, how her freckles were spreaded in her nose and cheeks, the faint shadow her lashes cast underneath. She was beyond beautiful, indeed, beatiful couldn't even start to describe how fantastic, gorgeous, brave and mighty she was. Five centuries admiring her wasn't enough.

His heart lost a beat, watching her little movements to get more comfortable in his bed. Azriel had left in one of his incursions to the Spring Court, contacting his spies to know more about how Tamlin was planing to rebuilt his lands, why he had closed such important routes of commerce, and, above all, why he was dismissing his employees.

It took more than he had thought, but he wouldn't bear to come back without the complete information. If Morrigan could hear him or read the thoughts in his eyes in that way of hers, she would give him a speach about the limits of working and about how no one expect him to put so much effort all the time - he had heard it before, more in the first century of convivence than now, when she started to convince him to take small breaks and enjoy himself just a little bit.

She was tireless, this woman in his bed, no matter how many times he denied or avoided, she invited him unsparingly for four centuries until he finally agreed to go dancing with Cassian and her. And, as much as he pretended coolness in that first night, he enjoyed. The freedom and easyness and fun and being with people he cared about.

A thread of sunlight touched her face, her eyelids trembling immediately. Mor sat down abruptly, looking around with a confused expression - she didn't remember falling asleep, but her muscles told her that she had had plenty hours of resting. Mor's eyes spotted Azriel in his chair, wearing his illyrian leathers and weapons. The armour was covered with mud and dry blood, his dark hair stained with she guessed to be pollen. A sweet raise of her eyebrows questioned him and the shadows almost vanished completely.

"I'm not hurt." His voice was a low rumble, answering before she could decide examining his body herself.

Her brows got up, higher than before, as she locked her whiskey-colored eyes on his. She could smell it of off him, the touch of musky in the blood, telling her that, even if she couldn't see it, he had bleed.

"An arrow brushed my arm when I flied, it's healed already."

Pondering his words for a moment, she allowed the concern and the fear to slid out of her, drinking the vision of his unwounded body. He'd call her worries unnecessary, she knew, but she couldn't help it, caring with his well being even when Az didn't.

"You should shower – I'm gonna let you rest." She raised to her feet, sniffing and listening to him, catching the uneven rhythm of his heart, the scent of the flowers and the lust in his eyes when he dared to look her from head to toe.

Self-conscious of each movement and trying to avoid push his buttons too much, Mor retrieved her book, tucking it under her arm as she tried to fix the mess in her hair. A small gasp called her attention when she was in the threshold, reaching for the doorknob.

"Thank you." The words were a murmur as his shadows approached her, a barely-there touch which seemed to caress her skin, showing her the unsaid words – thank you for caring, for being here, for _waiting_.

"Always." Her voice echoed inside his mind, that only word over and over again in his ears. When he left his bath, the bed was still warm, the scent of her so strong that he had to contain the wish of purring in delight. He fell asleep in a blurred of gold and passion. _Always_ , indeed.

**Author's Note:**

> I really liked writing it because seems so sweet and caring and subtle and she doesn't push him, even if she can see the want in his eyes. She is waiting for him for centuries and she will wait as long as he need. 
> 
> I think I'm going to write more about this couple soon. I have a tumblr about Mor and Az and general acotar/acomaf stuff that you can check if you want to. http://dreamersqueen.tumblr.com/


End file.
